


Identity Crisis

by WithTheKeyIsKing



Series: Sladick Fics [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst and Humor, BAMF Dick Grayson, Fluff and Humor, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Secret Identity, Slade is so fucking done, SladeRobin Week, SladeRobin Weekend 2019, brief murder of minor characters, ransom demands, when you kidnap your boyfriend and don't know it's your boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 07:10:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18633307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WithTheKeyIsKing/pseuds/WithTheKeyIsKing
Summary: A majority of the time, Dick is perfectly fine with having his identity secret from Slade, and the other man doesn't seem too bothered by it, either. Fucking doesn't require the removal of masks, after all.But right now, currently kidnapped and imprisoned as Dick Grayson, he's really wishing the mercenary knew who he'd just taken captive for a job.





	Identity Crisis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yamada_CZ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yamada_CZ/gifts).



> Dedicated with affection to Yamada_CZ for fucking distracting me from the final papers I _should_ be writing and instead directing my attention towards the delightful event of the SladeRobin Weekend :)

Ok, Dick could admit that this...wasn't ideal.

Alright maybe even...bad. Yea, this situation wasn't turning out the way it should've.

He hadn't even wanted to go to the stupid fucking gala. He and Bruce had been in an argument just before, and he hadn't been in the mood to go plaster on a smile and make small talk for the evening while rich people cooed condescendingly over how much he'd grown over the years.

Dick had had seven years of practice at these kinds of things, so he was good at it, but it was hard at the best of times. Throw in a sulky Bruce and Dick was certainly  _not_ interested in going. But Alfred had given him one of his patented Alfred Looks (tm) and so Dick found himself in a tux, in the car, and then through the front doors of yet another fancy ballroom.

When he got home, he was going to have a good amount of ammo for why he shouldn't be forced into attending the next one, whenever _that_ was.

Because, you know, being kidnapped wasn't exactly a good look.

And these guys werewell, these guys were pros. They had the hundred+ rich folks under control within five minutes, had located him (specifically _him,_ not Bruce or anyone else) in half that time, and managed to bind him and remove him before any of them could so much as blink.

At the beginning, when they first headed towards him, Dick could admit that it wouldn't have been hard to fight back and take those guys down, stun them enough to then move onto the next few.

But the  _thing was,_ that Dick Grayson, young ward of billionaire Bruce Wayne, should not be able to fight as well as a trained vigilante. Which meant that immediately, fighting back was out.

So. Things weren't looking too good.

They blindfolded him of course, once he was in the back of their shady van, and tightened his bindings. He was surprised by how thorough it wasthese guys were just kidnapping some teenager, but they were securing him with the amount of precaution they'd take for an actual threat.

Dick couldn't help but curse in his head; the  _one time_ villains decided to actually cover all their bases, and Dick couldn't reach the _fucking knots_ to free himself.

They changed cars three times. Dick knew Gotham pretty well, and so for a bit he managed to keep track of where they were going, but with all the switching he simply lost his place. It made him scowl, and he settled in to be confused until they reached their destination.

They weren't harsh or forceful with the way they moved him, simply firm, which not only added to their professionalism but implied that they _needed_ him in good form.

This was, in all likelihood, a kidnapping for ransom. Bruce was a fucking  _billionaire,_ after all, and Dick his only kid. Easy target, all things considered.

(Well, not  _all_ things considered. But it's not like they could be faulted for not knowing they were kidnapping Robin.)

They escorted him into a building, an elevator, and then into an apartment that he could hear required a five-digit passcode to enter. Only _then_ did they remove his blindfold, and he blinked against the sudden inpour of light.

They were all still wearing the masks they'd worn in the ballroom. That was a good signit implied they intended to have him leave here alive once they were all done.

Dick eyed them warily, trying to think of how a civilian seventeen-year-old would be acting in this type of situation, and settled to not try too hard. He wasn't in the mood to pull on some fake fear, so he was going to stick with wary and maybe some nervous chatter.

One of them men led him over to a couch, and Dick took the opportunity to look around. There were lots of windows, but all of them were blacked out. The furniture and décor screamed high-class, and the beeps in the elevator told him that they were eighteen stories up.

The man who'd sat him down crouched in front of him, head tilted slightly to the side. Dick leaned back a little, trying to get out of his area, and waited, watching. There was something familiar about him, about the way he moved, but Dick couldn't quite place it.

"Do you go by Richard?" the guy asked. Familiar voice, too. Like something just out of reach.

Dick blinked, taken aback slightly, and then shook his head. "Dick," he said hesitantly.

The man nodded. "Alright, good to meet you, Dick."

The teenager glanced around, eyeing the guns all the men were carrying and certainly knew how to use, and cleared his throat. "I, uh, can't say I share the sentiment."

His kidnapper chuckled. "Fair enough. Alright, kid, the goal at the end of the day is for you to go home perfectly content and in one piece, and for us to walk away with a lot of money. So while we wait, I want to make it very clear to you that none of us _want_ to hurt you, but know in no uncertain terms that if you try to escape or attack, we _will_ break some bones if it'll keep you still. Understand?"

Dick nodded jerkily. "Yes."

The man nodded back. "Good. So I'm gonna lay down a few ground rules to follow, and then we all go home happy. The first one is easy, and the most important; don't run or fight, as we've already established what'll happen. Next, if you need somethinglike to go to the bathroom, or something to eatask; I refuse to give you back a little worse for wear and send Wayne into a tizzy. And last but not least,  _relax._ Ignore the fucking guns and just sit still; this'll be over before you know it."

The man didn't say anything else, but didn't move, either, so Dick took that as the sign for him to voice him agreement.

"No escape attempts, don't be the strong and silent type, and stay calm. We all leave here happy. Sounds good to me."

His kidnapper snorted, shaking his head, and stood up. "Now, if I untie your hands, are you gonna behave?"

Dick nodded, and he meant it. At the moment, he'd be putting himself in more danger to try to fight than waiting for a better opportunity.

So, when the man reached forward with a knife and cut the ropes binding his wrists and forearms, Dick just rubbed them, not moving from his spot on the couch.

But when the man started reaching up towards his mask to pull it off, Dick froze.

"Uh, yea, can you  _not_ do that?" he said nervously.

His kidnapper paused and lowered his hand. "Why?" he asked, sounding very confused.

"Well, usually in the movies if the kidnappers let their captive see their faces it's because they don't intend to let him live long enough to speak to a sketch artist or whatever, so I'd really rather not see your face and up the chances of me getting out of here alive."

There was a moment of silence, and then the man laughed. "Kid, my face is already on just about a million wanted posters in about as many countries. The only reason I'm wearing this plain black outfit instead of my normal getup is because my client didn't want anyone identifying who was responsible during the kidnapping itself. These other guys are gonna keep their masks on for you, but there's no trouble with me. Alright?"

Dick nodded hesitantly, suddenly curious. So this man had been hired by someone else, and he made it sound like he was pretty famousor, well,  _infamous,_ really. It made Dick curious about what mercenary he was facing.

The man reached back up and pulled off the black mask, rolling his neck as the new freedom of movement.

And Dick said the first thing that came to his mind when staring at a face he knew intimately.

"You've got to be shitting me," he blurted.

Slade Wilsonaka Deathstroke, aka someone Dick had seen naked only five days agorose an eyebrow at him. "You recognize me? Hell, I must be even more notorious in Gotham than I thought if a random rich kid knows my face."

Dick opened his mouth, prepared to tell Slade  _exactly_ what kind of fucked up situation they'd just found themselves in, but the words died in his throat. Bruce would actually kill him if he revealed their secret identities to a mercenary like Deathstroke. It would complicate this entire situation. Plus, the other seven men would know who they were, too.

So instead, Dick said, "My best friend is the police commissioner's daughter; I've seen your picture in his office. Deathstroke, right? You are..." he licked his lips, feigning nerves, "not exactly a small fish."

Slade chuckled. "No, I'm certainly not. But just relax, kid; my contract isn't to kill you, just hold you hostage. You'll be home before you know it."

* * *

_Home before he knew it_ turned out to mean  _six days,_ because apparently whoever Slade's  _"client"_ was kept jerking Bruce around.

It was boring, being cooped up in the apartment. The menkeeping to their label of Professionalwere always alert, always on their guard. Every once in a while one of them would vanish for half an hour before returning, and Dick could only assume that's when they actually consumed food, or something, because they certainly didn't do it around him, despite having some food brought for him.

Slade certainly hadn't lied about the fact that none of them intended to harm him. None of them even  _touched_ him, except for the one time he slipped on a small pile of water and one of them caught him before he faceplanted.

Bruce never would've let him live that down.

After a while of boredomwhich meant a day and a half inDick started talking to his kidnappers. They often didn't reply, but one time he told a joke and three of them chuckled so he counted it as a win, and confirmation that they weren't  _actually_ robots.

On the third day, he managed to rope Slade into playing a game of cards with him. Leading up to that, the man had actually ignored him pretty effectively, which made sense, Dick supposed; Slade was used to Robin's chatter, so the snarky and light comments from the kidnapped teenager in his charge probably rolled right off his back.

"One game," Dick protested, when Slade continued to ignore him for the book in his lap. "C'mon, man, it's fucking  _boring_ here. Like, I get why I can't have my phone or whatever but you gotta give me something. I'm a seventeen-year-old boy with what many would probably consider ADHD and I'm going out of my fucking  _mind."_

Silence remained, and Dick was sure that he was once again going to be ignored, but instead Slade sighed and put aside his book before moving to sit across from Dick, pulling out a deck of cards.

Dick beamed, perking up.  _"Thank_ you."

"Ya know," Slade said after a few hours and many,  _many_ card games, "you're not exactly the stereotypical billionaire's son, are you?"

Dick hummed his agreement. "Helps that I wasn't born a billionaire's son."

Slade glanced up at him, raising an enquiring eyebrow. After a moment, Dick figured it didn't hurt to tell the truth, it wasn't like there weren't a million newspapers out there with the whole story anyway.

"I spent the first ten years of my life as part of a traveling circus," Dick explained, grinning at the surprised laugh his statement earned. "I was an acrobat, and a pretty damn good one."

"So how'd you end up as Bruce Wayne's kid, then? That's quite a leap in standing."

Dick nodded with a wry smile, and put down his next card. He once again considered his answer, because there was a good amount of what he wanted to say that  _wasn't_ in the newspapers. But, what the hell, didn't matter much anyway.

"When I was ten, this mobster Tony Zucco wanted our circus to pay him  _protection_ money. Halythe guy who ran the placetold him no, and thought that would be the end of it. Instead, Zucco tampered with the trapeze before the performance that night, and two of the acrobats fell to their deaths. Haly paid up after that."

Slade was silent for a moment. Then he asked, "And those two acrobats...?"

"My mom and dad," Dick said, shrugging one shoulder. He ignored the lump in his throat. "I watched them fall. And, well, Bruce was at the show that night. He saw it all happen, and then he learned that I didn't have any other family. He knows what it's like to watch your parents die right in front of you, and I guess he saw himself in me. So he took me in, gave me a home. He's my dad just as much as John Grayson is."

"I'm sorry that happened to you, kid."

Dick chuckled. "Thanks, Mr. Kidnapper."

Slade shot him a look. It just made Dick laugh.

* * *

On the sixth day, while the pair of them were playing  _Risk,_ Slade received a phone call.

He pulled out his cell and answered it, listening intently. He pursed his lips, glancing briefly up at Dick with dark eyes and then away again.

Dick's blood ran cold, and he waited silently for Slade to hang up the call, the mercenary then looking at his with a blank expression.

"They want you to kill me, don't they?" Dick asked quietly, his heart pounding in his chest.

Slade nodded. Dick's breath caught.

"Oh. Um. Right. I'd really like to...not die, if that's cool, so how about we just part ways and say I escaped, or something...?" he rambled nervously, glancing around. All the armed men straightened, no longer relaxed, their fingers now curled over their triggers.

"Sorry, kid," Slade said on a sigh, "I know I promised you'd go home, and I actually like you, but I'm getting paid quite a lot of money so this is where your story ends."

He stood up, pulling the gun from his hip holster. Dick scrambled to his feet and backed away, eyes darting around the room, looking for an exit strategy. They were all ready now, though, and there was no way Dick was going to beat Slade in hand-to-hand, especially not with seven other men ready to drop him, as well.

"You don't have to do this," he pleaded, "you weren't hired to kill me, just keep me captive. It doesn't-"

"Are there any words you want to be your last ones, kid?" Slade asked, completely ignoring his pleading. And Dick knew the mercenary was a cold bastard but  _damn,_ that was something else. "Something other than begging?"

Dick hesitated. Slade rose his gun. Dick figured that in the long run, Bruce could forgive him.

"1127 Parker Row!" he shouted desperately.

Slade froze, his muscles tightening. His finger twitched against the trigger and his eyes narrowed to calculating slits. "Excuse me?"

"Ratty blue couch, window that screeches when you open it more than halfway, expensive whiskey on the kitchen countertop."

The mercenary stared at him, motionless, and then darted forward. Dick jerked back, but Slade keep up with him easily and slammed him against the wall, a hand around his throat. Tight enough for the threat to be clear, but not restricting breathing or blood flow.

"How do you know about that place?" Slade growled.

"It's me," Dick replied, quiet enough that only the mercenary in front of him would be able to hear him. "It's Robin, Slade, and I'm really hoping you have enough sentimentality towards me to  _not_ kill me right now."

Slade stared down at him for a few more moments, eyes burning, and for a second Dick thought that he actually  _was_ about to be killed, that Slade was enough of a sociopath to murder the person he's fucking, but then-

The mercenary whirled around, gun raised, and took down the seven other men before they could so much as twitch. Dick sucked in a sharp breath and rose a hand to his mouth, eyes widening as he stared at the seven men who had just died because of him.

Slade took a slow breath in, let it out, put down the gun, and then turned back to face Dick. He stared at the younger man with an appraising eye, and then a smile curled his lips.

"Well,  _this_ is a surprise," he said with a chuckle. "Dick Grayson is the Boy Wonder. Which means..." He cocked his head. "Does that make brainless, playboy Bruce Wayne Batman? This day is  _full_ of delightful surprises."

Dick slumped against the wall, breathless. His hands were tingling faintly, the adrenaline of the last few minutes crashing suddenly and leaving him feeling weak.

"You asshole," he muttered, "I really thought you were gonna kill me anyway."

"Gotta keep you on your toes, Robin," Slade smirked. He watched him again. "Your eyes are blue."

Dick blinked at him. "What, you didn't notice the past six days?" he snarked.

Slade rolled his eyes. "I mean  _your_ eyes are blue, not just Dick Grayson's." He stepped forward, causing Dick to straighten, and pressed their bodies together, trapping Dick against the wall. "It's good to see you, little bird."

A relieved shiver went down Dick' spine at hearing the familiar nickname. They were fine, then. No more danger.

Except-

"Are you going to tell anyone?" he asked, and hated how vulnerable he sounded.

Slade sighed and brushed a lock of hair out of Dick's face. "No, little bird," he murmured, the look in his eye almost  _gentle,_ "I'm not going to tell anyone. I always protect you, don't I? This is just one more thing."

Dick's eyes slid shut, a shuddering breath going out of him, and then keened when Slade leaned down and captured his mouth in a searing kiss, the elder man's thigh sliding between Dick's own.

This thing between them was new, relatively speaking. Just about six months. And Bruce would freak out if he knew that his child, his  _Robin,_ was sleeping with the literal enemy.

This was the one thing Dick kept to himself, the one thing that was solely  _for_ himself. Slade made him feel alive, feel wanted, feel spectacular. He didn't care what Bruce had to say about it, or about the fact that seven men had just been murdered in order to keep Dick safe.

_I always protect you, don't I?_

Dick might not agree with Slade's methods, but he couldn't dispute that fact.

"Let's get out of here," he moaned, arching his neck as Slade licked his way down it. "I doubt B will be expecting me quite yet, and I'd really rather not have sex with my savior near the bodies you just dropped."

Slade snorted and then drew back. "Savior. And kidnapper. Ya know, kid, we could make a lot of money like this; pretending to kidnap you, or gaining Batman's favor by being the one to return you safely."

Dick rolled his eyes. "I think this is a one-trick pony," he said dryly. "And I'm not exactly into roleplay, thanks."

"No?" Slade asked on a purr. "Well, we have all the time in the world to figure out what you  _are_ into, don't we?" He smirked. "I think Wayne can wait another day for the return of the prodigal son. For now, you're coming with me."

"Sir, yes, sir," Dick muttered, affronted at being ordered about, but he couldn't hide his smile, nor his laugh when Slade bodily picked him up and carried him towards the door.


End file.
